


Forever and a Night

by orphan_account



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, Mild Sexual Content, Season 3, leshbeeans, making the dialogue less stilted, oh to be two lesbian vampires atop a tower, some violence, the shows script and voice acting arent exactly the best we have to admit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:41:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23525524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Forever is never long enough.
Relationships: Morana/Striga (Castlevania)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 62





	Forever and a Night

**Author's Note:**

> i have some history stuff in the end notes if you find some references confusing. im an enormous dork and like stuff like that
> 
> also this is my first shot at anything even vaguely erotic so bear with me here.

A bold human priest once had the gall to hiss to Striga and Morana, _may you rot and be torn asunder for your heathen ways and vile acts! Disgusting female sodomites, may you burn in the fiery pits of hell!_

They shredded his innards and forced him to eat his own bowels, then in an act of perfect irony, dismembered him.

Humans. Vile, evil things. Blind creatures living among the dirt and filth from which they spawned, to which they shall return. But the Sisters? Forever would they reign. Never shall the women bonded through blood and night fall to dust and ash. Humans could not love, could not _begin_ to understand profound and absolute devotion to another being. Marriage not defined by priest or ledger of brittle, impermanent paper, but of two souls bound and melded and writhing in the ecstasy of passion untamed and unhampered. True, pure, immortal love was not something the human race was capable of.

Love between women? Stronger than all of creation. Powerful beyond words. Striga knew this well- loving Morana largely taught her so. The rest of this knowledge came from her brief time on the isle of Lesbos. Interesting women, though regrettably mortal. Sappho was a fascinating human, with many inspired thoughts. Well spoken and talented in the art of poetry, a skill Striga had never managed to acquire, even with her many years. Words were not her strong suit, actions her preferred medium of expression. A shoulder for tears, or beautiful adornments that, though exquisite, would never match the radiance with which her heart's love shined.

Striga's favorite word, the one she valued more than any action she was capable of, was Sister.

Humans had odd ideas about the meaning of Sisterhood. To them, it was this concept of closeness only siblings would share, not to be acknowledged unless legally forced or any other sort of shallow reason. Like they nearly always were, the humans were wrong. These Sisters were not related through mothers- they were related through the bonds of respect and trust. Yes, through blood, but not _womb's_ blood; through the lifeblood of prey consumed are they connected. Through the blood which changed them irrevocably into the beautiful creatures they would be together forevermore. Sisters and Vampires, and in Morana and Striga's case, Wives.

Striga's second favorite word was wife. Her beautiful bride, perfection incarnate. Holding Morana in her arms was a purer thing than all of His creation, if he even existed. How could such a glorious love be unholy in the eyes of anyone?

"My love," Morana had murmured one sleepy morning, on the cusp of sleep, "forever is not nearly long enough to have you."

"Forever and a night, then," Striga whispered into the crook of Morana's neck, "forever and a night will be enough."

A contented sigh into the wild mane of Striga's hair and a kiss to her pointed ear was the response, before they both succumbed to the day's pull to rest. A vampire's physical strength wanes with the rise of the fiery sun, but they never felt weak when wrapped up in each other.

Carmilla found it sickeningly romantic and overdone. Lenore found it adorable, and called Carmilla bitter. This was true, but Carmilla put up a fuss about being offended anyway. They bickered for months until Lenore's olive branch of twenty virgins delivered to their front door to drain smoothed over hurt feelings.

Of course, there could be quarrels among the couple; harsh words exchanged and regretted. One particular argument nearly brought the walls down around them, over shipments of Styrian iron, of all things.

"We will not give humans the means to destroy us! You would give our only source of iron to _them_ and leave our own troops with leftover scraps to protect them!" Striga shouted, enraged beyond belief.

Morana glared. "We need _funds_ in _order to_ protect them! To protect _ourselves_ from poverty! Not all problems are solved through brute force, Striga, some require-"

A harsh, humorless laugh interrupted Morana. "Require what, exactly? Intelligence? Strategy? Do you imply I, the General of grand armies, do not have these?"

"Of course you are intelligent! You simply do not understand these plans. You have no understanding of this temporary mutual benefit!" Morana white-knuckled her lap desk, lacquered wood creaking under the pressure.

"I? I have no understanding of mutual benefit? I am not an uncompromising warlord only capable of crushing all under my boot. I know the advantages of an alliance just as you do, Morana. Only the weak and unworthy filth such as humanity are broken upon my wheel! The filth you are _FUCKING ARMING!"_

Whispered hisses brimming with vitriol escaped Morana's throat. "I am making it seem as if they will benefit from this, Striga, when they will not. I am playing their games and acting tame only for the sake of lowering their guard. I am appearing humble and allow those _repulsive_ things the decoration of a vapid female smile just long enough for them to turn their backs, but soon my smile will turn true and my teeth shall rip open their throats. I will take the offal of their corpses and feed it to hounds. Do not take me for a fool, General. They do, and they shall regret it."

A strained silence fell between them. Striga softly, dangerously, asked, "was that a threat, my love?"

"What..." Morana exhaled in shock. "What kind of question is that? How... how _dare_ you. How DARE you! I am done here, you brute." Morana threw her lap desk across the war table, frustrated, insulted. The loose quill streaked ink across the map of Austria. "Do not speak to me for a fortnight."

Morana stalked away, a thundercloud.

The General stood there for many minutes, then grabbed the war table's edge. A shout of raw anger roared from Striga as she overturned the table and its contents, paper flying and ink spilling and wood snapping into splinters.

Striga would not grovel for forgiveness. Pride permeated her black soul. She would not grovel. She would _not._

She very much wanted to a week into her expulsion from their shared room. Striga began to leave gifts outside the bedroom door, on Morana's office desk, and ordered extravagant meals vibrant with exotic spices from the kitchens to be delivered to her wife.

Carmilla found it hilarious, and needled at Striga relentlessly. "Someone put herself into the doghouse, I heard. And I certainly heard it well. The two of you shouted so loudly the Orient must have heard."

The reproaching voice of Lenore scolded Carmilla, "Now, now, Carmilla, we all have our disagreements. No need to be bitter AND catty." Which led to yet another fight between the two.

The fortnight had passed, and Striga stood at the door to her own room, unknowing if she was welcome to come in.

"Well, get in here, you silly woman," Morana called from inside. "I want to see you."

Oh, what beautiful words. Pushing open the doors, a weight fell from Striga's shoulders to see her lady love on the balcony in her night gown. The jade earrings Striga had the day before left outside her door were dangling from Morana's ears. Beautiful, a compliment to her radiance, but not nearly as resplendent as the woman herself. No jewelry ever was.

"I very much like these gifts you have given me," Morana said. "but the best gift of all is seeing you with calmed eyes."

Morana shifted a hand from the balcony railing to reach for Striga. Striga quickly took it up, pressing an adoring, fervent kiss to the back of it, murmured, "I would give you the world if you but wished it. I would give you the moon."

That put a soft smile onto Morana's face. "Hmm. The moon. Yes, I shall be happy with that, but for now, you are all I wish for. Well," Morana paused to consider something. "I wish for a different gift tonight."

The General nodded into her wife's palm, sliding her free arm around Morana's waist and hauling her to the barrel of her own chest, raising the smaller woman to tiptoes. "This gift," Striga asked, "is it for two?"

Morana's free hand walked two fingers up Striga's large bicep. "It is for two, my love, and I would have you share it with me."

The low back of the night gown ended at the small of her back, and a broad, curious hand dipped sharp nails under the silk. "Shall we unwrap this gift together then?"

Morana let out an inelegant snort into Striga's chest, then tilted her head back to look her wife in the eye, gaze warm and oh, so in love. "You are ridiculous."

When she hummed in distracted agreement, the rumble of Striga's chest vibrated through Morana pleasantly. "A fool I am, when you are with me."

"Honest words from a self-professed fool," Morana breathed when the broad hand on her back slipped lower and lower, just brushing the curve of her rear. "How unusual."

Another hum from Striga. Morana extracted a hand from Striga's grasp, moved both it and her other around the back of her wife's neck. Small hands cupped the taller woman's head, pulling her down down down for a kiss. Even on tiptoes, it was still a stretch; this was solved by Striga changing course to crouch down, ruck up the hem of her wife's gown to splay fingers across Morana's ass, rising to place the other arm firmly across her back. Her bicep a steel bar of muscle. A tortured sound punched from Striga's chest when her strong hand didn't meet any small clothes, only the smooth skin of Morana's ass. Morana instinctively wrapped her thighs around Striga's waist, hands on her shoulders, meeting half way for a long-awaited kiss.

Tongues licked and ran along the back of the other's fangs, slick and smooth and competing for control. The flat of Striga's tongue caught the tip of Morana's fang, and blood smeared across their palates, sending twin strikes of lightning down their spines as identical groans escaped from their throats. The distant thought of a perfectly useful bed just inside their room floated across Striga's mind, her feet subconsciously carrying them to the four poster draped in rich fabrics.

They gently laid on the bed, Morana bending back and Striga following her crawl to the middle. As Striga's curtain of wild, dark hair fell to frame them both, Morana's hair fanned out behind her head like a dark halo. An Icon freed from paintings to grace the realm of flesh. Saint Morana the Vicious. Art imitates life, but they were not alive. 

Ripping her lips from Morana's to whip the gown over her head, Striga took in her bride's beautiful, flawless body. Removed her steel bar of an arm to run an awed hand over her wife's curves, she hoarsely whispered, "You become more beautiful each night I see you. Every morning before we rest I realize I did not love you enough during the night, and thus repent by loving you more the next."

A desperate whine from Morana heated her blood further. The back of Striga's hand brushed back and forth over the soft skin of Morana's torso, her breasts. Her other hand curled from her wife's ass to grasp the inside of a smooth thigh, pushing lightly to unhook it from its hold on Striga's waist. Morana let her leg be spread, one heel planting itself onto silk sheets and the other falling flat. Open.

"This night's repentance, my love," Morana gasped, burying a hand in Striga's hair, "is to worship at my altar."

"Gladly." 

Ripping her tunic over her head, then shifting her body down the luxurious bed, Striga laid wet kisses and nips as she descended. Fangs left small scrapes in their wake, but were immediately sealed as Morana healed. The strong hand not holding Morana's thigh was grasped tightly by her lover's, fingers lacing for but a moment until Striga removed it and trailed her palm to the other thigh to spread it as well. 

Morana was bared completely. A groan vibrated deliciously through Morana as Striga suppressed the sound in her thigh. Eyes focused on her wife's, settling more comfortably. 

For an eternity, it felt like, did Striga wring cries from her lady. One release leading into the next, leading into the next and onward. _My love, I cannot, I cannot do it again,_ Morana would beg, but Striga would respond, _my lady, my love, you can, you can._

"You bade me to worship you," Striga had said. "I am on my knees in prayer.This is my genuflection."

As Morana was showing she was truly near the end of her tether she finally let it be known she truly was done through demanding claws to Striga's scalp. Striga tiredly removed her trousers, then crawled back to her wife's lips for a throat-swabbing kiss.

The morning was coming, and exhausted lovers slid beneath the thin silk sheets. 

"My heart," Morana whispered so, so softly, "forever and a night is not nearly long enough to have you."

"Forever and each night after, then," Striga replied. "Forever and beyond will be enough."

**Author's Note:**

> well, thanks for reading my garbage. ive deleted all my other stories and who knows how long this one will stay up. so take my writing and if you like it feel free to leave a comment it might keep it alive longer. im pretty insecure about my writing so itll eventually be orphaned or more likely just straight up deleted. anyway, be excellent to each other and kind to people and be selfless and also all the lesbians out there youre doing amazing sweeties youre awesome and deserve the world
> 
> lesbianism in the middle ages: love between women was considered a minor sin, if no penetrative sex with objects was involved; a small repentance of 13 years was all you had to do otherwise ! it was declared by the church that 'true' sex had to have a 'man' involved or else it didnt 'count'. one punishment, however, for being a lesbian in the middle ages, was to have the women involved dismembered. so i found it appropriate to reference that and im just vicious enough to use these two ladies as a way to vent my anger at history
> 
> isle of lesbos: the term 'lesbian' originates from the greek island called lesbos, full of homosexual women. to be more detailed about it, it became more famous due to one woman, Sappho- the origin of the word sapphic- a greek poet born around 630 BC. her poetry is beautiful and romantic, inspired in her love for other women, but unfortunately most of her writings were burned by the church and only survive through fragments because catholics never let anyone have any fun. im being funny about it but the church has a thing against people living their lives and thus the world has suffered for it
> 
> styria and iron: styria was the number one source of european iron in the middle ages. these ladies gotta have money in order to maintain their lifestyles and armies and yadda yadda so a good cash flow would be iron ! this was the peak age for medieval armor and plate mail, steel in high demand. and iron makes steel etc etc.
> 
> icons: icons are a form of christian art. one of the oldest, in fact. often they were meant to represent holy figures, such as the trinity, mother mary, specific saints, etc.
> 
> but before i leave you all, i have a poem to show you- a fragment of our fair lady sapphos work.
> 
> "Glittering-Minded deathless Aphrodite,  
> I beg you, Zeus’s daughter, weaver of snares,  
> Don’t shatter my heart with fierce  
> Pain, goddess,
> 
> But come now, if ever before  
> You heard my voice, far off, and listened,  
> And left your father’s golden house,  
> And came,
> 
> Yoking your chariot. Lovely the swift  
> Sparrows that brought you over black earth  
> A whirring of wings through mid-air  
> Down the sky.
> 
> They came. And you, sacred one,  
> Smiling with deathless face, asking  
> What now, while I suffer: why now  
> I cry out to you, again:
> 
> What now I desire above all in my  
> Mad heart. ’Whom now, shall I persuade  
> To admit you again to her love,  
> Sappho, who wrongs you now?
> 
> If she runs now she’ll follow later,  
> If she refuses gifts she’ll give them.  
> If she loves not, now, she’ll soon  
> Love against her will.’
> 
> Come to me now, then, free me  
> From aching care, and win me  
> All my heart longs to win. You,  
> Be my friend."
> 
> -Sappho, 'Glittering-Minded Deathless Aphrodite’


End file.
